


Whispers Of The Devil

by dvs



Category: The Mummy
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2010-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:42:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvs/pseuds/dvs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ardeth fights his demons after Rick almost dies in a sandstorm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whispers Of The Devil

The moon hung low in the sky, red as blood against the eternal night. Ardeth urged his horse on, struggling under the weight of two men and in dire need of food, water and rest. When he felt choiceless, Ardeth wearily slipped from the saddle and trudged beside the horse, his feet sinking into the sand. He stopped momentarily to check the man that was slung over his horse, unconscious and unmoving.

Under the bundled up clothing, his fingers found warm skin and a defiant pulse, refusing to give up just yet. Ardeth wanted to laugh, but held back only because men that laughed in the middle of a sandstorm were either mad or reaching madness and he had no desire to be either.

The journey seemed endless, his mouth tasting nothing but sand, his eyes watering and his limbs close to giving in. The horse finally gave in to the terrain, pulling against Ardeth's attempts to lead onwards and neighing in protest. Quickly grabbing a hold of O'Connell's shoulders, Ardeth pulled him to safety before the horse could throw him off.

They landed on the ground, O'Connell on top of him and still not moving. Ardeth gently turned O'Connell onto his back, laying him on the ground as he pulled off the cloak from his own back. Lying against O'Connell, he tried to make a cover of the cloak as best he could. It made a useless shelter from the storm, but for now, it would hide them from the sands.

On any other night, Ardeth would have feared the prospect of lying in wait for the morning sun to rise. But the sun hadn't risen in a year. Egypt had become the land of eternal darkness. Imohtep and his bride Anck-Su-Namun, with their armies of the living dead now thrived under the eternal night, growing and moving outwards. Conquering or killing anything in their path.

They were unstoppable, the undead many and the Medjai the few, their numbers ever decreasing. Then there was O'Connell, Medjai by fate. It was after one more of many bloody battles that Ardeth had seen the tattoo on O'Connell's arm, declaring him the lost warrior. The one meant to be found by Ardeth, ending his search.

Ardeth was quite sure that had O'Connell been told of his fate before this had all begun, he would have scoffed in his usual brash manner. But that had changed. Between them, they had seen the creature become _human_ from corpse. They had watched as Evelyn screamed, her soul being ripped from her body to be replaced by Anck-Su-Namun. Nothing of her remained, or at least, that was what Imohtep had said with a triumphant smile.

Imohtep and his bride disappeared like phantoms, Ardeth, O'Connell and Jonathan staring in disbelief.

"Why didn't he kill us?" O'Connell had asked.

"Because we are no longer a threat to him," Ardeth had replied.

The ruins began to crumble and the night sky was fixed into place when they emerged. In the distance there was a hum, maybe the undead chanting or maybe just evil.

Ardeth had sat down belatedly, unable to comprehend what had happened. He was Medjai, he was supposed to stop the creature from ever rising, yet now the creature walked.

"We failed," he had murmured, shaking his head.

When he looked up, he saw O'Connell, staring at the bloody moon, shotgun already in hand. He turned slowly and looked at Jonathan who was still in shock, his face pale, his eyes angry. Then O'Connell looked down at Ardeth and he was defiant, stubborn and unbeaten.

"Fight's just started," he had promised.

## 

*

When Ardeth awoke, his mouth was dry and his lungs felt as if filled with sand. He could hear the quiet sounds of the camp he had been desperately trying to reach. By the grace of Allah, they had been found.

Opening his eyes, he found he was inside his own tent, lying on his own bedding and everything seemed slightly less insane for the moment. He slowly got up and saw the tray set by his bedding, a steel beaker on it, covered with a plate. The water inside it was cool and Ardeth drank it quickly, even though his empty stomach lurched as the water hit.

Moments later, he left the tent, expecting to walk into a sunlit day under a blue sky as always, but as ever, finding night. The campfire burned and people sat around it, weary and tired, growing sick of the endless desert cold.

"Ah, I see you're up."

Ardeth turned to see Jonathan, just outside his own tent, a book in his hand and a few days of heavy stubble. He had on his spectacles, which never came off because he was always buried in books, trying to find a way to end all the madness.

Ardeth gave Jonathan a polite nod. "The books we found, were they of any use?"

Jonathan grimaced and scratched his cheek. "I'm still trying to go through them. Unfortunately some of the texts are extremely old and my translation skills never really rivaled Evie's."

Ardeth said nothing, the shimmer of pain in Jonathan's eyes as visible as the day Evelyn had been lost to them.

"I trust you will find what we need, my friend," Ardeth said, meaning every word.

Jonathan smiled, amused. "Yes, well, don't hold your breath too long my good fellow."

Ardeth smiled back. "How is O'Connell?"

Jonathan nodded. "He's fine. You brought him back in time. Hakkim cauterized the wound. Luckily the bullet went right through. He took quite a bash to the head too, but he was up a while ago, cursing everyone in sight, so, all's well."

Ardeth felt the relief hit him like a sandstorm, threatening to knock him over, but he simply breathed and nodded, squeezing Jonathan's shoulder.

"I think you ought to get some rest too," Jonathan said. "Man can't live on desert sand and certain doom alone."

He gave a small laugh as Jonathan patted his arm and left. With a tired sigh, Ardeth made his way to O'Connell's tent, allowing his bones to ache now that they were out of danger. For the time being.

O'Connell was awake and sitting on the edge of his bedding, pulling on his boot, the other one already on. Ardeth watched for a while as O'Connell struggled, a bandage visible under the torn sleeve of his shirt, where a bullet and hit. His face looked pale and his eyes dark, a small sheen of perspiration above his lip.

"You should be resting, O'Connell," Ardeth said quietly.

The other man looked up, boot in stilled hands. He stared long and hard at Ardeth. "You alright?"

Ardeth nodded. "I am. You, however, are wounded."

"There's no infection, the fever's broken," O'Connell said, getting back to his boot. "Besides, I need to know if Jonathan's got anything from those books."

"He is still working, O'Connell. He will tell you when he finds something."

O'Connell sighed, raking a hand through his hair, grimacing in pain as he brought his arm back down.

Ardeth frowned as O'Connell gingerly brought his arm back down and then sheepishly looked up. "Ow."

## 

*

O'Connell was lying back on the bedding, Ardeth sitting on the edge, by the other man's feet. There had been small conversation about how they had escaped their predicament before O'Connell drifted off to sleep.

Ardeth sat watching the opening of the tent, not quite closed and providing him a view of the campfire outside. Spirits seemed high. Others had returned today, alive and with new weapons. It was an occasion worth celebrating, so today they ate and sang together.

Ardeth smiled, his own spirits lifting. He turned back to look at O'Connell, asleep, but never looking at rest.

What did a man declared Medjai by fate dream of?

O'Connell frowned in his sleep and his head jerked up as he awoke. He stared at Ardeth. "I fell asleep?"

Ardeth gave a nod.

"Long?"

"No, not for long. Do you wish to eat?"

O'Connell sat up, shaking his head and moved to sit next to Ardeth. "No."

"Eat something," Ardeth said. "You must be hungry."

O'Connell stared and Ardeth knew the other man's eyes were on his lips. "All the time," O'Connell said.

He felt that familiar tension in his chest, the one that only appeared near O'Connell. Not before battle. Not before the godforsaken undead and not even before death. Just this man, who wasn't one of them, yet more of a Medjai than any of them.

"I will bring you something," Ardeth said as he began to rise.

O'Connell grabbed his arm hard enough to bruise. Ardeth looked down at the fingers holding onto him and then back at O'Connell. His friend let go and looked away, seeming full of regret, waving a hand at Ardeth that told him to leave.

He sat back down. "What is it?"

O'Connell shook his head. "Nothing. I'm having a bad day."

Ardeth shook his head. "We survived. It is a good day."

"Egypt's turned into a land of zombies and the world doesn't care. It's never a good day," O'Connell said, full of sarcasm.

"You must not think like that. One day we will win. The creature will rest again," Ardeth said, believing it with all his heart.

"And what about Evelyn?"

"She is gone my friend. The body is a shell that has been taken by another. We cannot hesitate to kill Anck-Su-Namun. She does not belong here as much as the creature."

O'Connell was frowning down at the rug, his fingers laced together. "Jonathan thinks she might still be alive. In there somewhere."

Ardeth nodded. It was something Jonathan had brought up many times. And stories of djinns weren't unheard of; malevolent spirits that possessed the living.

"I hope he is right," Ardeth said.

"Wonder what that would be like. Everything back to normal. Can't really imagine it."

Ardeth shook his head. "There is no going back to normal. Whatever will happen once the creature is dead, it will be different."

"I guess you'll go back to guarding old Imohtep," O'Connell mumbled.

"It is an important task. We cannot fail a second time."

O'Connell nodded. "Well, can't say I won't be glad to get the first plane out of here. I've had my fill of sand."

Ardeth was dumbstruck, a wire tightening across his chest as he stared at O'Connell. "You would leave?"

"Once this is all over, there won't be any reason I can't leave."

Ardeth reached across and grabbed O'Connell's injured arm, the other man gasping in pain. "What the hell?"

Ardeth showed O'Connell the tattoo. "This is not reason enough?"

O'Connell tried to pull away, but Ardeth held on.

"Maybe I don't want to be a Medjai," he said, pain clear on his face.

Ardeth let go and O'Connell let go of a breath and held his arm close.

"After all you have seen?" Ardeth asked, wounded by this most blatant of rejections.

"It's not a good enough reason for me to hang around," O'Connell said.

Ardeth knew he would be wrong to ask the question, he knew he was inviting temptation into his heart, but the words found their way to his lips regardless of his fear.

"Then what would be a good reason?"

O'Connell smiled, shaking his head and then looked straight into Ardeth's eyes. Swiftly, he moved towards Ardeth's lips, but was pushed away before he could get too close.

"Do not make me choose between you and my god." Ardeth's heart pounded in his chest.

"I'm not asking you to choose anything," was the blunt reply.

"This is wrong," Ardeth said, the conviction having lessened with every protest he had made so far.

"Wrong? You wanna know what wrong is? Wrong is the moon being red and the sun never coming up. Wrong is stealing books and artifacts while running from zombies. _This_? It's not wrong, it's just the way it is."

"What you want cannot be," Ardeth whispered, looking around for a reason that he could believe, for surely, Allah wouldn't punish those who loved. Where was the wrong in that?

"Last night, when we were in the desert and you were holding on like your life depended on it, when you kissed me, right here," O'Connell pointed to his forehead, "wasn't that wrong?"

"It was a prayer for you," Ardeth said quietly. "For your survival."

"And you didn't want it one bit? Being that close?" O'Connell asked, just as quiet.

Ardeth looked away, because he would be unable to lie. Even now, he felt it, lying there so close, both of them under his cloak as the storm raged above them. He remembered their faces, less than a breath apart and O'Connell's skin burning as he whispered in his sleep. Then Ardeth kissed his feverish brow, praying to Allah, let this man live, take anything, just let him live.

He pressed his lips against the skin and whispered prayers, his mind struggling to cast away the need and desire he felt. Wrong, he told himself, to want this man. Wrong to imagine laying kisses on his skin. It was a night of curses and prayers.

_Take anything._

Perhaps He would take O'Connell, to another land where Ardeth could not reach him.

"Imohtep died for Anck-Su-Namun and his love for her brought him back," Ardeth said. "Is he right?"

O'Connell shook his head and laughed as he got up and headed out, suddenly turning back angrily and glaring at Ardeth. "If we ever send Imohtep back to wherever in hell he came from, you think you'll get some big reward for being a good boy? I've got news for you, _He_ does not care. What the hell's He ever given you?"

"You," was the simple reply.

"Yes," O'Connell said flatly. "But you don't want me, do you?"

Ardeth looked away as O'Connell stormed out. Of course Ardeth wanted him, more than anything, but fear was a greater enemy than even the creature.

## 

*

The encampment moved days later in an endless effort to escape notice of those that were voluntarily aiding Imohtep to become a pharaoh of the modern age. Only, his quest for power extended beyond two kingdoms. He wanted the world.

Ardeth rode silently, sick of eternal night. He imagined his leaving for a moment. The creature in its grave, Ardeth would relinquish his leadership of the Medjai and he would see what the rest of the world had to offer.

No. Even in dreams, his heart wanted nothing more than to be a Medjai.

Well, perhaps there was one thing he wanted more, but that would always be out of reach.

## 

*

He was riding back to the new encampment, having met with informants on Imohtep's location and plan of action. Imohtep was becoming quite the modern dictator, his armies of the undead and slaves working to build him a palace from where he would command the world.

On nearing, there seemed to be some commotion and Ardeth's heart jumped. O'Connell and Jonathan had been gone for days, meeting a man who had promised valuable information. His first thoughts were that they were dead or dying. Even worse, they were now Imohtep's prisoners.

Ardeth dismounted barely before his horse had stopped and grabbed the nearest man. "What has happened?"

"I'll tell you what happened, we barely made it out alive is what happened," a familiar brash voice said from behind.

Ardeth turned, sighing in relief and smiling, just about resisting the urge to throw his arms around O'Connell, who looked disheveled, a bloody cut above his eyebrow.

"You are alive," Ardeth said.

O'Connell held up thumb and finger with an inch of space in between. "By that much."

"What happened?"

"Interesting story that," Jonathan said, appearing at O'Connell's side. "Looks like the rest of the world finally noticed something very funny's going on here."

"That is good news," Ardeth said.

"Like hell it is," O'Connell spat. "They're sending planes and dropping bombs on everything."

"Yes, it's the old blow a big hole in the troublesome part of the world ploy," Jonathan said. "I just hope it doesn't catch on, or there won't be much left for good old Imohtep."

O'Connell scowled at Jonathan who simply shrugged and disappeared into his tent.

"I do not understand O'Connell," Ardeth said, following the other man as they walked across the encampment.

"It's simple. We saw British planes. They were pretty much aiming at everything. They're not here to kill Imohtep. They're here to make sure his army doesn't get any bigger."

Ardeth stopped walking and stared. "They are wrong. His power-"

O'Connell turned and pointed. "Don't. I already know. I'm just hoping we don't get blown to smithereens in all this."

With a heavy sigh, O'Connell stomped off to his tent. Ardeth stood watching, guilt pulling at him as a part of him wished it would always be like this. They could be comrades. Brothers in arms. His love for O'Connell could have a name.

To think there was once a time when all that mattered was keeping Imohtep dead and now his existence was the reason why O'Connell was still here.

Ardeth couldn't carry the burden of there being any other reason.

## 

*

Without the sun to shed any warmth during the day, the desert nights were cold enough to make your breath mist. Even the fires provided little warmth.

Ardeth was lying under a layer of blankets, wide awake, trying to remember the desert heat, but all he could think of was warm skin and how it would feel to his cold hands. Wanting and desiring; whispers of the devil.

Ardeth sat up and looked across the tent, how easy it would be to just to walk out and go to O'Connell, because O'Connell would take him. He would curse anyone that told him he was wrong, because he knew there was no evil within him.

_It's not wrong, it's just the way it is._

Ardeth got up and slowly walked towards the tent opening, his feet half dragging and half urging him on.

Where was he going? What was he going for? A test? It was all a test. He was supposed to take his heart and cut a line that separated love from desire, throwing away the dark half, so his blood would be white and pure in his veins.

Ardeth stepped outside and looked across the encampment where O'Connell's tent was. The cold was good, freezing his blood and stinging his skin. Only, O'Connell stepped outside his own tent, looking up at the sky before noticing Ardeth. They stared at each other, the camp fire between them, the flames trying to reach the stars.

How was this not worse than any other desire as they stood there, their eyes tearing holes into each other? How could he be saved, Ardeth wondered, if he stood there and could still feel O'Connell's skin against his fingers?

His feet suddenly moved from in front of his tent and he strode across the encampment as O'Connell watched with fire flickering in his eyes. He crossed the distance between them without any doubt or fear, courage diluting the blood in his veins, coloring it crimson.

He stopped in front of his friend, brother, comrade... something else. O'Connell was waiting, his eyes searching Ardeth's.

"I found it!" Jonathan shouted, running from his tent.

Ardeth and O'Connell turned to look at the obviously excited man. "Found what, Jonathan?" O'Connell already sounded skeptical.

Jonathan held up an old tattered parchment and pointed at it. "Luxor. We have to go to Luxor. I think there's something there."

Others walked out of their tents, wondering what the commotion was as Jonathan stood staring at the parchment, as if it was magical. Ardeth turned away from O'Connell and went back to his tent, waiting for when he would be needed.

## 

*

They were going to Luxor because it held secrets, because according to an informant, Imohtep was biding his time, waiting for the year of the scorpion and the name of the ancient city of Thebes had been spoken. The parchment had been passed to Jonathan and he was certain that in Luxor lay the key to Imohtep's demise.

Ardeth sat praying, hands held up high, eyes closed and heart elsewhere completely. As he he spoke his prayers quietly, he wondered what a sin it was to pray, yet think of another. Was it not the worst kind of infidelity? Maybe he was the worst kind of infidel.

Finished, he stood up and turned to see O'Connell watching him.

"I did not hear you enter," Ardeth said.

O'Connell pointed to the prayer mat. "Didn't want to disturb you."

Ardeth chose not to tell him that it was too late for that and instead noted the shotgun in his friend's hand, along with the knife on his belt and the gun in his holster. Medjai or not, the man was a warrior through and through. If he chose not to fight here, he would probably end up fighting somewhere else.

"We're set to go. You ready?" O'Connell asked.

Ardeth nodded, pulling his scarf across his nose and mouth.

O'Connell gave a nod back, but he wasn't done yet. "What were you going to tell me last night?"

Ardeth knew the tone. He was to answer this question truthfully now and lay it to rest forever.

"Nothing, O'Connell."

His friend stared and last night's fire flicked in his eyes once more, before leaving them darkened. "Okay," he said, his tone carrying some kind of finality. "Well, let's do this then."

O'Connell turned and left the tent, Ardeth following. Never catching up, but always prepared to follow.

**\- the end -**

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the lovely [Destina](http://www.lyricalmagic.com/) | Takes place after an alternate ending where Imhotep has won.


End file.
